Story Starters
by silverwrym
Summary: These are the first chapters of stories that I'm currently writing. All are Reid focused and they will have angst, whump and/or possible non-con. Left Behind A stakeout goes wrong and Reid is taken by the unsubs as leverage. Catfished A desperate man is catfished by two young men using Reid's picture. Genius 187 An AU where the government has all control over geniuses.
1. Left Behind

The city of Detroit was an extreme contradiction.

On one hand, it had a bustling downtown area that was fighting against urban decay and making a comeback as a place to be – a destination for fun. There were major league sports venues, concert halls, casinos and high-end eateries enticing the people from the surrounding suburbs to come back and give the city another chance.

On the other hand, if one was to wander outside of the ten block radius that had been revitalized they would find themselves in the middle of the dark streets that are vividly depicted in the movies. While Detroit tried to convince the world that it was now as new as a shiny copper penny, the outskirts were filled with burnt out houses, overgrown lawns, junkyards, and abandoned warehouses.

The amazing thing was that littered throughout these regions of the city were random gems. If one knew where to look they could find an authentic southern kitchen serving genuine cornbread and grits with a side of collard greens. Or they might happen upon what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, but upon closer inspection they would find a fashion-forward nightclub that oozed an upscale vibe. It was almost as if the citizens of the city and the surrounding area didn't want outsiders to discover their favorite hotspots so they went out of their way to disguise them from sight.

It was outside of one of those nightclubs that the team found themselves on this night.

The building was a former auto parts factory that had been renovated and turned into a dance club. There were four floors in the building and each one had a theme. The first floor was dedicated to techno music and loud colors. The second floor was all about R&B music and stylized after a New Orleans jazz club. The top floor of the building was all about Hip Hop. The décor around the room was all about comfort with an upscale lounge feel to it while the dance floor is shrouded with low lighting and shadows. Finally, one could wander down to the basement where the motif is styled after a gothic cave. The music that flowed through there was hauntingly erotic and matched the sensual shows that were performed nightly on various stages.

The exterior of the club looked damaged and desolate. The steel walls had once been painted a tan color but were now caked in filth and covered in rust spots. There was no sign identifying it as "The Cavern" but the flocks of well-dressed twentysomethings that were trickling in the side door showed the onlookers that they had found the right place.

The team, who had been called in by Detroit P.D. due to the amount of deaths of club kids in the area lately, were squished in a surveillance van around the corner from the nightclub. The road they were on used to be filled with warm happy homes but now there were only dilapidated shells of former houses or piles of rubble. None of the club goers parked on the curbs of this street for fear of their car being stripped or stolen by the time they got back. Instead, they left their vehicles in a fenced in lot that was monitored by a security crew. Not wishing to be spotted by their unsub, Hotch had chosen to park their seemingly rusted out van mid-way down the road. On the outside the surveillance vehicle looked like a normal part of the scenery but on the inside there was over three thousand dollars' worth of technology.

In the back of said van, Reid and Gideon were sitting in the two chairs that were positioned in front of a wall of monitors. There were four screens lit up showing various locations around the perimeter of the club and four blank screens. The two profilers were keeping an eye on all the exits in hopes of seeing someone who matched the profile. In the front, Hotch and Morgan were discussing the victims, bouncing around ideas in order to refine their victomology profile. JJ was back at the station coordinating and monitoring the stakeouts that the local officers were in charge of at different clubs. Meanwhile, Garcia was clacking away at her keyboard in Quantico, trying to manage the video feeds for all of the operations going on tonight.

Spencer, who's eyes were starting to blur from looking at the screens for too long, pushed back from the dashboard and asked his mentor, "Do you think Garcia will be able to get us the feeds we need from the inside of the club?"

Gideon crinkled his eyes as they sharply flitted from TV to TV. "She has to," he mumbled, uninterested in the conversation.

Reid sighed and nodded his head before turning his attention back to the monitors. He knew the older agent wasn't in the mood for small talk but at this point in the investigation even that tiny bit of conversation was helping to keep his brain alert. For the team had been on sight in Detroit for a little over four days and they had been working nonstop. They had been taking shifts in going back to the hotel to get some sleep but at this point the most any of them had gotten was about ten hours total.

Ten hours over four days isn't very much in the grand scheme of things. At this point, they were all beyond tired and none of them were looking forward to another all-nighter.

"I still think we're missing something from the profile," Reid muttered as he rubbed his eyes.

"Why is that?" Gideon inquired with his gravelly voice.

"I…I can't put my finger on it but…think about it. We know that all the victims have been sexually assaulted, but each one sustained different injuries. There have been oral, vaginal and anal penetrations and two of the victims were violated in multiple places. And that's not even considering the different types of restraint wounds that have been present on their bodies. We've seen indications of metal restraints, rope, tape – not to mention gag marks, blindfolds and more. Would it be too far of a stretch to say there are multiple unsubs, each with their own sexual preference?"

"Or we just have one unsub that likes to experiment. Perhaps he is undergoing a sexual awakening and using his victims to figure out what he likes best," Jason remarked, playing the devil's advocate.

"True, but there is also the drugs…"

"What about them?"

"Well, we found each victim with narcotics but again they didn't have the same type. Kieanna had Ecstasy, Dorien had LCD, Madison was found with PCP and Nolan's pockets were filled with GHB. None of them had actually taken the drug yet…it's almost like it was planted on them to throw us off. So we are looking for a man that must have a vast array of connections in order to have access to such a wide variety of party drugs. It isn't that too far of a leap to suspect there may be multiple people bringing their own drug preference to the table," Reid surmised.

"If there are multiple unsubs involved in the murders…why are they killing off their clients? Dealers want to keep their addicts alive and dependent on them – not the other way around," Gideon commented, contradicting Reid's inference.

"I don't know…," Reid said, slightly deflated by his mentor's skepticism.

Hearing the dejection in his protégé's voice, Gideon glanced at the boy and said, "Keep thinking. You may be on to something; you're just missing a few pieces of the puzzle."

"Yeah…I will," he said faintly. The genius turned his attention back to the screens. After a few more minutes of watching the black and white feed he growled, "This is impossible. The only thing we're seeing is the empty alleys. We need eyes on the inside."

Instead of responding to Reid's petulant comment, Gideon reached in his pocket and withdrew his phone. "Garcia? How long until we can see inside the club?" The man was listened for a few seconds before grumbling, "That's not good enough." He hung up the phone without saying goodbye and turned toward the front of the van. He leaned over and knocked on the small window in the wall that separated the front of the vehicle from the back. The glass panel slid open smoothly allowing the older agent to call through it. "Hotch, have you guys had any luck? Because that tech girl said it's going to be at least another hour for her to get us the feed."

"Nothing so far, Jason."

"Then I think it's time we went in."

"All of us?" Morgan asked as he turned around and peeked through the window.

"What? You think I can't fit in at a club?" Gideon asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

Morgan flashed a toothy grin and said, "Hell no! None of you will. You'll just look like a creeper sitting at the bar leering at the girls. Everyone will think Hotch is there looking to be someone's sugar daddy. And Pretty Boy…well it's him that I'm most worried about. He'll stick out like a sore thumb with his virginal looks and T.A. gear."

"Hey!" Reid cried indignantly. "I don't look like a teacher's assistant…do I?"

There was a moment of silence in the van before Hotch cut in, "Reid's choice in wardrobe aside, we do need eyes in here. Morgan, Gideon with me. Reid stay here and watch the monitors."

"What?" the youngest agent squeaked. "B-but I'm the closest to the mean age in there. Don't you think I should be one of the agents to go in?" The boy's eyes were wide, pleading not to be left behind on surveillance duty.

"Reid, you're staying here," Hotch commanded; his tone leaving no room for debate.

The genius dropped his chin down and stared at his lap. "Yes, sir."

"Alright you two, let's get going. Reid, once we're inside call JJ and Garcia and let them know about our change of plans. Then keep your eyes glued to the monitors and let us know if you spot anyone who fits the profile entering the club," Aaron instructed as he turned and looked through the window at his teammates.

"Yes, sir," he said again, sullenly.

Hotch ignored the young man's brooding response. "When we get inside we'll split up. Morgan take the top two floors, I'll take the ground level and Jason, you'll go down into the cavern. Be vigilant and report in anything that looks suspicious."

The two seasoned agent's just nodded in response and checked to make sure their weapons were secured and discreetly hidden in their clothes. "Morgan, go in first and we'll stagger our arrivals after you."

"Got it, Hotch," Morgan said as he exited the vehicle.

The rest of the occupants of the van watched at the muscular man disappeared into the club and heard him say over the walkie that he was headed upstairs.

"Jason, I'll go next and you follow in a few minutes," Hotch said before he slid out of his suit jacket. He then pulled off his tie and ruffled up his hair in an effort to try to look a little less official. "We should have worn some more appropriate clothes," he commented to the other two agents.

Gideon laughed. "I doubt any of us in this van own casual clothes."

A smile cracked through on Hotch's usually stern face. "I suppose you're right, Jason," he commented wryly. "I'll see you in there." The man then shut the dividing window and slid out of the driver's side door of the van.

Reid and Gideon were silent as they watched the unit chief walk up to the club with an air of confidence. It took about five minutes for the man to get through the line and admitted to the club.

The elder agent waited another few minutes before he made to leave. During that time both Agent Hotchner and Morgan had checked in their positions in the club and announced that as of right now no one in their line of sight met the profile. Gideon's hand was poised to pull the handle of the door back when he stopped his movement and said, "Don't forget to call JJ and Garcia after I leave."

Reid crinkled his brow, slightly insulted that his mentor felt the need to repeat Hotch's instructions to him. "I will."

"And Reid," he called.

"Yeah?"

"Stay diligent," the older agent instructed.

"Yes, sir," Reid responded shortly, the ego hit obvious in his tone.

Gideon nodded but didn't comment on the boy's apparent offense at his words. Instead he pushed the sliding door open and exited the van, leaving the BAU's youngest on his own.

* * *

The genius grumbled to himself as he turned away from the van door as it closed behind his teammate. He'd only been with the unit for two years and his fellow agents still insisted on treating him like a child. Hence his displeasure at being left behind to surveil the camera feeds while the rest of the group went to scope out the inside of the nightclub.

"I don't get it. They tell me all the time how valuable I am to the team but they always conveniently leave me behind in high risk situations," he muttered to himself as he started checking each of the monitors. "Garcia could totally be doing this right now and that would have freed me up to be part of the raid."

"She could be, Reid, but you know she's coordinating the feeds for each of the raids while trying to tap into the club's systems. She's busy. You're not," Hotch's voice stated grimly.

Reid stiffened in his chair. "Sir?" he squeak in panic.

"Hey Pretty Boy, next time your gonna complain about the boss-man make sure you walkie isn't flipped to two-way," Morgan said with humor in his voice.

"Sir, uh sorry, Sir," Reid fumbled before he dropped his face into his hands in embarrassment.

A moment of silence followed the muddled apology. "How are the feeds looking, Reid?"

The genius's head shot up and quickly took in the screens above him, "No one of note approaching the club and all the alleys are clear," he reported, his voice as neutral as possible.

"Copy that," Hotch replied. "I take it you haven't called JJ or Garcia yet."

"No, sir," the boy mumbled, chagrined.

"Get on top of that. Now."

"Yes, sir. I will, sir."

"Good," he stated before signing off.

Reid let out a sigh of relief and sat back in his chair, thoroughly humiliated.

Suddenly, the radio frequency let out a burst of static. "And Reid," came his Unit Chief's voice said, piercing his ear. "We'll talk about your place on this team after we wrap the case."

Spencer nodded his head, even though he knew his boss couldn't see the pathetic gesture.

"Now, mute your end of the line and only contact us if there is something that we need to know," the supervising agent ordered before the radio waves went silent once again.

The boy's lithe fingers searched out the switch on his walkie and pushed it to the receiving only position. He then let out a massive groan, "He's going kick me off the team!"

"For a genius, you can be pretty stupid sometimes, Spencer," he mumbled, continuing to berate himself. "No wonder they don't want you in the field. You can't even complain right."

He rubbed his forehead with his right thumb and index finger, trying to stave off the tension headache he could feel starting to form. "Get it together. You're still on the team now and they need you to keep an eye on things," the youth ordered himself. "Worry about it after this is all over!"

Above him the black and white feeds flickered. His eyes flitted over the screens; his brain digesting each scene with the precision of a profiler. Slowly, he reached his hand into his pocket as he maintained his gaze on the transmissions in front of him. He only looked away to ensure that he pushed Garcia's correct contact button.

The calls to both girls lasted less than two minutes each and in that time nothing happened outside of the club. The agents inside were also coming up dry too. Not a single patron on any of the four floors matched the profile of a sadistic drug dealer that was preying on club kids.

The genius glanced at the clock and saw that it was only 11:00 at night. He groaned, knowing that his teammates were going to be in the club for at least another three hours searching for a match to their profiler. "I might as well get comfortable," he said, shifting in his metal chair and stretching his arms. "If that's even possible."

Suddenly a scuffing noise came from outside of the van. The agent froze, wide eyed, and strained his ears. Wishing that the van had cameras on the area immediately around it, he counted out two minutes in his brain and moved again when he didn't hear any more suspicious sounds.

Chuckling at his own paranoia, let out a deep breath. "Some FBI agent you are. Now you're jumping at the sound of a stray dog scurrying around outside. Morgan would have gotten, like, a years' worth of material from that."

The genius's tense muscles relaxed slightly as he turned his attention back to the screens.

Swiftly and without warning the door behind Reid was thrown open. The sounds of men shouting out profanities filled the air along with maniacal laughter. "Our boy was right, guys. They are hunting us down. But it looks like we got to the prize first. Now go get it."

The man hadn't even muttered his last word when two of the goons rushed into the small space. Spencer's spidery fingers were halfway to their goal of switching his radio back on when he was knocked out of his seat and onto the floor. The wires attached to his radio went taunt on his way down and the device pulled away from his head. He hit the ground on his back and looked up to see his headset swinging back and forth above him.

All of a sudden he remembered his gun.

How could he had forgotten the gun strapped to his belt?

Reid was cursing his stupidity when he felt two hands wrap around his ankles and pull them backward. The lithe agent struggled to kick out his legs, desperate to dislodge the man's grip and yelled out, "Let go! I'm a federal agent!" Meanwhile, he was twisting his body from side to side hoping to distract the two men from looking at his right hand.

He was successful. The tips of Spencer's gangly fingers brushed the cool gunmetal but all of a sudden his world drop out from underneath him. For the second time in less than a minute his back hit the hard ground; his teeth jarred together and his head smashed into the rough cement.

Stars were dancing in front of his eyes when they cracked open to reveal the cloudy night sky. He blinked his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. He looked around and felt his stomach drop when he saw that he was surrounded by at least six men. There was no way he'd be able to reach his gun now without them seeing. He was going to have to use the only weapon he had left; his words.

He swallowed a gulp of air and trained his gaze on the man that looked to be in charge of the others based upon his confident body language. He was a six foot tall white man that was only slightly heavier than Spencer. His head was shaved but it was obvious that he only did it to prevent comments about the bald spot that was spreading across the crown of his head. His face was haggard and pock marked due to years of untreated acne when he was a teenager. His eyes were a dark brown and sunken into his head, giving them a beady look that was enlarged due to his prescription glasses. Every visible patch of skin aside from his face was covered in ink – most of it Irish in origin. The man was the total opposite of what Reid had expected.

"I-I think there's been some kind of mistake. I-I'm a federal agent and your interfering with an active investigation. If you leave now I'll forget this ever happened," he stated with a shake in his voice.

The man he was looking at smiled and looked around at his friends. They all started laughing until the lead man cut them off. "Get his gun," he ordered one of the goons, ignoring Reid's statement.

The panic the agent had been trying to suppress burst forth as a rush of adrenaline. Once he heard the other man's order Reid tried to roll over onto his right side to hide the holster that his hand was reaching for.

Alas, he was not quick enough and one of the muscular men rushed him and grabbed his shoulders, pinning the genius down to the ground. Another one of the assailants swiftly crouched down and took the gun away from its owner.

"Let me go!" Reid cried, bringing his hands up to his shoulders and digging his nails into his attacker's flesh. The black man that was perched above him didn't even wince when his skin was broken. The genius realized his scratches were doing nothing. So he fisted his right hand and slammed it into the thug's jaw.

"You gonna take that, Jay?" a Latino man taunted from the sidelines.

The man above him, Jay, growled at the scrawny agent and straddled him. He released his hold on Reid's shoulders and sat up tall, squeezing his legs against Spencer's waist in a show of dominance. The young man squirmed beneath the daunting man's gaze and tried to plead for his release one more time. "Let me go!" he shouted once again, desperation clear in his panic strained voice.

Instead of freeing Reid, Jay backhanded him and flipped him over onto his stomach. The angered man then shoved his knee into Spencer's back and grabbed his scraggy neck with his left hand. Using his right hand, the man reached down and tried to slide his fingers underneath the waistband of the genius's pants. "No! Don't!" Reid shouted when he realized the man's intentions. But Jay just laughed at him and allowed his hand to continue its journey.

Unfortunately for him, the boy's pants were cinched tightly at his waist, thanks to his belt. The large man growled out his frustration and threatened, "A fucking belt isn't going to stop me."

"Knock it off for now," the head man ordered.

Jay looked up at his leader and said, "But Clifton…"

"Not now," the beady-eyed man snarled. "You'll have time for that later. We need to get outta here before his friends come back."

"Fine."

The man, now identified as Clifton, looked over at the Latino. "Mico, call Lorenzo and get the van over here now. The rest of you help Jay get the kid ready."

Reid, who was practically hyperventilating, managed to force out, "Don't do this. Just let me go now or else you'll be facing life in jail – a-all of you."

Clifton looked down at Spencer and frowned. "Shut the kid up, boys. I'm sick of hearing his mouth."

The men surrounding Reid converged on him at once. Jay let go of his neck and gathered up both hands. Spencer heard the sound of tape being unwound from its roll and moments later it was binding his wrists together. The men didn't just stop at his wrists, though; they continued up his hands, forced his fingers to intertwine and encased them in the sticky tape. Meanwhile, someone was down at his feet, removing his shoes in order to fasten his ankles together.

"S-stop…please," Spencer whimpered as he was turned onto his back, smashing his bound hands beneath him.

Jay was the only one that even acknowledged his plea and it was only with a smirk. "Hey, Tony, give me one of your socks."

The guy down at Reid's feet called back, "Say what?"

"Gimme one of your socks," Jay ordered, snapping his finger.

Behind him, Tony grumbled his displeasure at the demand. It was quickly becoming obvious to Spencer that Jay was second in command of this crew.

"Here ya go," the man said, flinging out his black cotton sock.

Jay snatched it out of Tony's hand and balled it up into a wad. "Rip off a few strips of tape for me."

Tony did as instructed while Jay seized Spencer's jaw. "Open wide," he jeered as he squeezed his fingers together and forced the agent's mouth open. Once Reid's teeth parted he shoved the sweaty rag inside and used his hand to push it down deep. His free hand reached up and took the piece of tape that was dangling from Tony's fingers and pressed it down over Reid's lips. He then layered on four more pieces before he sat back and grinned.

"Perfect," Clifton commented. "Now get him up. Here comes Lorenzo."

A large white van pulled up seconds later next to the group. Jay stood up from the ground. He then bent over and grasped Reid's right forearm while Tony got his left. The two men hauled him upright and dragged him over to the vehicle. Mico was already at the van's sliding door, opening it up so they could fling their cargo inside. Once Spencer was sprawled out on the floor, Clifton's crew piled inside whilst he climbed into the empty passenger seat.

"Good job, Boys," the ringleader called from the front. "It's time we show the police who runs these streets."


	2. Catfished

"This is it," Jerry Swanson said to himself as he reached out and opened the door of his '92 Escort.

The pharmacy technician was about to meet the love of his life for the first time and his stomach was doing somersaults at the thought. Sure, he'd been communicating with Oliver for a little over four months but talking over instant messenger and meeting in real life were two entirely different things.

The two men had met on an online matchmaking website. Oliver was the one that made first contact with him and their relationship grew from there. They both worked slowly through the rigmarole of filling out the personality test to see if they were compatible, then they moved on to answering preselected questions by the website and finally they moved into the open communication stage. Throughout the whole exchange they never once conversed on the phone or via a video conference. Oliver had said that he already knew what Jerry looked like so he wanted the rest to be a surprise.

But what if Oliver was lying when he said he thought Jerry was attractive? Or what if when he finally saw him in person he changed his mind? What if he ended up being repulsed by Jerry?

The large man felt a moment of panic coil in his gut. He didn't think he could handle being rejected. Especially if the rejection was over something as frivolous as looks. For Jerry had never been that confident in his appearance and having a man that he'd fallen head over heels for rebuff him over it would be a blow against his ego that he wasn't sure he could handle. Especially since it had happened to him before…several times.

The six foot three inches tall man had never been considered a looker by society's standards. He had jet black hair spiked hair, bushy eyebrows that nearly met at the span that bridged his nose, and a full beard that he grew in order to hide his jowls. His thick neck supported his large head and led down to his massive body. Jerry, a fan of fast food and beer, knew that he was considered obese but he didn't care. He would be damned if he left this world deprived of the food that gave his taste buds so much pleasure. So if that meant that the trade-off for enjoying the food he loved gave him a few rolls, then so be it. Besides, his size intimidated people which gave him power over them. No one crossed him and came out undamaged on the other side. But that didn't mean that their stares or looks of disgust didn't bother him. He was human after all and the fact that most people judged him based on his exterior appearance hurt.

Pausing before he set his feet on the ground outside of his car, Jerry decided to give himself a pep talk. "Oliver wouldn't do that to you. Those were just stupid blind dates that you were set up on. You had no connection to them…not like you have with Oliver. He told you that he thought you were handsome and that your weight didn't matter. He said he liked it when his lovers were bigger than him…it gives him a sense of safety. He's a lost young man looking for you to provide him with some stability. You understand him and you'll help him, guide him, and give him rules to live by – not to mention consequences if he breaks those rules. So, just be yourself. Don't let him see that you're nervous. He's going to love you."

With those final words of self-encouragement, the man unloaded his large frame from the compact automobile and started his trek toward the doorway of his online boyfriend's house.

The walkway was pretty standard. It was just large cement blocks that made a path toward the front door. The yard – if you could call it that – was in disarray. There was barely any grass; only weeds and dirt patches encompassed the area. The tiny square that was supposed to be the front porch was crumbling away due to years of unchecked weathering. Jerry, who was hesitant to step up on the disintegrating cement, carefully planted his feet on what looked like a stable section and took a deep breath. Once he allowed the air to flow through his lungs, he raised his shaking fist and knocked on the rickety screen door.

* * *

"Dude, he's here!" Trevor Sanders shouted to his friend as he peeked through the blinds of the front window.

"No fucking way!" Leon cried from his easy-chair. "He actually fell for it?"

"Hey, you gotta admit we were pretty convincing!" Trevor replied, walking away from the window with a shit-eating grin.

"Yeah, but who really goes to meet someone at their house that they met online – that they've never even talked to on the phone," Leon said incredulously.

"People get together off the internet all the time," the twenty-something countered. "My sister met her husband on one of those sites."

"True," Leon admitted. "But come on…"Oliver" was way too good to be true for this guy. We played to all his fantasies…it's never that easy in real life. I mean, we told the guy we were looking for a big strong man to run our lives. We wanted him to teach us right from wrong – we wanted him to take control of everything."

Trevor laughed out loud. "God, that was genius! We even got him to jack off to "Oliver." And now he's here, ready to dominate in real life."

"Yeah…," Leon said nervously.

"What? You knew what we were doing when we set up this meeting. Are you chickening out now?"

"No," Leon protested. "I just didn't think he'd show up."

"Come on…we were just playing – having a bit of fun with him. It happens all the time with these online things. It's this guy's own fault for not checking us out further," Trevor explained with a smirk. "Really, he was just asking for it."

"Right. I guess."

"What? Do you feel bad about it now?"

Leon looked down at his sneakers and frowned. "What are you going to tell him when you answer the door?"

"That "Oliver" isn't here," Trevor said simply.

"And?"

"And nothing. It's the truth. There is no Oliver that lives here. He's got the wrong address."

"You think he'll believe it."

Trevor looked over at the doorway when he heard a thump on the screen door. "He doesn't have a choice."

Leon's face seemed to pale as his friend walked over to the door. He didn't have a good feeling about this.

"Look, just make sure you're getting all this on film. I want to post this later on our blog – our followers are gonna eat it up. Hashtag catfishing," the cocky young man said with a hiss before he turned the doorknob.

Jerry held his breath as he watched the door to Oliver's house swing open. Unfortunately, standing in front of him was not the long lithe body of the chestnut brown haired young man he had been talking to online but rather a muscular kid that was no older than the age of twenty. With a furrowed brow he tried to look past the boy when he answered the door and said, "Can I help you?"

"Uh, yeah…I'm here to see Oliver," Jerry said, confused that his beau was not there; rather another young man was standing off to the side in the living room filming him.

Why hadn't Oliver mentioned that he had roommates?

"Oliver?" Trevor parroted.

"Yeah, Oliver Boyle."

The kid's lips quirked into a half smile. "I'm sorry. There is no one here by that name. I think you have the wrong address."

"No. This is the address that he gave me. I'm certain," Jerry refuted with a scowl.

"Well, you must have wrote it down wrong," he laughed before attempting to shut the door.

Angry, Jerry flung forth his meaty hand and pushed the door back open. "I assure you I didn't. Now what is going on?" he roared, pissed at the smug little shit standing in front of him.

The boy's laughter died on his lips. He looked down at the hand splayed out on the door and back at the furious man in front of him. "Hey buddy, I'm sorry to tell you this but it's just me and Leon that live here. There is no Oliver."

"He wouldn't lie to me," the angry man yelled, forcing his way into the house. "Now where is he?"

The kid in the background, Leon, dropped his phone down and shot his friend a worried look. "Ah…Trevor, maybe you should tell him."

"Shut it," the boy named Trevor bellowed.

"Tell me what," Jerry said, turning toward the other kid with fire in his eyes. He could tell that something fishy was going on here, now it was just a matter of finding out what.

"Nothing," Trevor said innocently.

Having enough of the young man's games, Jerry reached out and wrapped his hand around the kid's neck. Trevor started sputtering in surprise; his hands flying up to his collar, desperately trying to pry the large man's fingers from around his throat.

"Let him go!" Leon cried, running forward to try to help his friend.

The obese man knocked the other kid to the floor with his free hand. "Not until you two tell me where Oliver is," Jerry demanded, squeezing the boy's white neck for emphasis.

Leon, scared for his friend, looked around the floor for the phone he had dropped in his fall. When he found it he grabbed it up and started to dial for help.

"Your friend here will be dead before they even arrive," Jerry drawled upon seeing what the boy was doing.

Leon looked up at Trevor's face, saw that his lips were turning blue, and knew that the man was right. "Alright!" he cried, holding up his hands in defeat. "I'll tell you. Just…just let him breath."

Satisfied that he was finally going to get some answers but still wary of any tricks, Jerry lightened his hold slightly but grabbed one of Trevor's arms and brought it up behind his back in a debilitating hold. "Well?"

"T-Trevor told you the truth before. There – there is no Oliver," Leon started.

"Don't Leon – "

Growling, Jerry forced Trevor's arm higher behind his back until the kid squealed in pain. "What do you mean – there is no Oliver?"

"We made him up!" Leon howled, unable to bear seeing his friend in pain.

"What?" Jerry snarled, tightening his grip around Trevor's throat again.

"W-We made a fake profile. We – uh – we stole some guy's photo online and used it as our picture and we made up all his details," Leon admitted, twisting his hands nervously.

It took Jerry a moment to process the information and when he realized he had been played he crushed his fingers around Trevor's wrist and wrenched it, causing it to pop.

"Grahhh!" the kid cried out as pain radiated from the injured joint.

"Y-you made me believe –" he cut himself off when he heard a hint of anguish tinting his voice. He took a deep breath and started again. "You tricked me! Why? Why would you do something like that?"

"We were just trying to have some fun," Trevor uttered pitifully.

"Fun?! You think that hurting someone like this is fun?" he roared in anger.

Thoroughly chagrined, Leon looked at the man they had fooled with fearful eyes. "We were wrong…and stupid. We're so sorry. P-Please…let Trevor go and we promise to take our profile down immediately."

Jerry, who was still seeing red, wasn't placated by the boy's apology. "That's not good enough!" The irate man then kicked Trevor in the knee causing the boy to collapse while he was still holding his arm up behind his back awkwardly. As the kid fell down to the ground a loud crack sounded through the room, signaling that his shoulder was pulled out of its socket. Jerry let go of Trevor's useless limb and listened with joy as the kid cried and moaned in pain as he rocked back and forth on the ground clutching his arm with his good hand. While the boy was down for the count, Jerry swung his leg back and sent it careening into Trevor's gut multiple times. His victim curled into a ball to protect his midsection which left his head vulnerable. Seeing a great opportunity, Jerry aimed his next kick at the boy's temple and knocked him out cold.

Leon watched the assault in a stunned silence. It wasn't until Jerry looked up at him after Trevor's cries were cut off from the kick that the boy found himself able to move. He instantly tried to make his way toward the front door but his shirt was quickly caught up in Jerry's meaty fist. "Where do you think you're going?" the man barked in his ear.

"I-I was –"

"Show me," Jerry demanded.

Gulping a large breath of air, Leon asked shakily, "Sh-Show you what?"

"Show me where you got Oliver's picture."

"A-Alright…just…just please don't hurt me," Leon begged.

"Now," Jerry ordered, ignoring the boy's pleas.

Leon pointed his finger over to the desk perched up against the wall of the living room. "The computer's over there."

Jerry shoved the boy forward and said, "Don't try anything."

"N-No, of c-course not," Leon stuttered. The shuffled over to the laptop and sat down in the chair. He could feel Jerry hovering behind him; the man's foul breath flowing over his shoulder and into his nostrils.

Eager to get the man out of his house and check on his friend, Leon's fingers started flying across the keyboard. He pulled up a search engine and typed in the same parameters that he did last time he was looking for a picture. Soon images that matched his brief description popped up on the screen. The young man scrolled through the pictures until he found the one that they had used for their fake profile. "Here it is."

"Click on it," Jerry demanded as he leaned closer to the screen.

Leon did as he was told and watched as the computer processed his request and sent him to a page on the FBI's official website. It was an article written by Agent Spence Reid that discussed the psychology of murderers called "Angels of Mercy." Unable to focus enough to read, the boy just sat in the chair with his finger on the mouse pad, awaiting further instruction from the wronged man behind him.

"Oliver…," Jerry whispered in awe as he reached out his hand and traced the agent's angular cheekbone.

Leon was momentarily tempted to remind the man that there was no Oliver but decided that it wouldn't be in his best interest. Instead, he asked tentatively, "D-Do you want me to do anything else?"

The boy's voice snapped the maddened man behind him out of his reverie. "No. You've done enough already," Jerry stated ominously. Before a shiver could even shake his spine, Leon was knocked out of his chair and down to the floor beneath the computer.

Jerry looked down at his tormentor and spit on him. "You're lucky I didn't bring my gun," he told the kid. He then grabbed the laptop and slammed it down on the young man's head before snapping it in half and letting the pieces drop to either side of Leon's listless body.

He then turned around and left the house, kicking Trevor one last time on his way out the door.

He had the love of his life to track down and nothing was going to stop him.


	3. Genius 187

**Before you read this I want to give credit to my inspiration for this story. A while back I read an amazing story called "From the Ashes, Hope." It is a story on this site and it is beautiful. Currently it is unfinished but it is still worth reading. I have contacted the author and informed her that I am writing this story. Now I am only using her story as inspiration for the sequestering/enslavement idea in this story. The author of the other story had an epic idea about Spencer being able to embody the spirit of cons and stuff like that - ideas that I am not using. I just wanted to give credit where it was due!**

 **This is an AU by the way. The team is all in it (my version at least: Reid, Emily, Morgan, JJ, Rossi, Garcia, and Hotch). Hopefully the first part of the story gives you enough information of the AU world I am trying to paint.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

In the year 2005 a massive attempt to overthrow the American government took place. A group of collective geniuses had gotten together and devised a plot that would bring the government to its knees and force a massive overhaul of what they thought was a broken system. The main players involved in the coup were intelligent on a level high above the men and women running the country so the plan they came up with was devious and sneaky.

The geniuses knew that they couldn't infiltrate the system on their own so they recruited like-minded individuals via word of mouth and deep net websites. They were quite successful at finding multiple highly intelligent people that agreed with them and deployed them at stations throughout the country.

Unfortunately for the virtuosos involved, the FBI and Homeland Security got wind of their scheme and shut them down immediately by arresting each of the masterminds involved.

Due to this close call, both houses of Congress worked together and developed a law that was passed without contest and signed into being by the leader of the free world. The law, which would prevent such an occurrence from ever happening again, clearly stated that anyone with an IQ between 130 and 140 was to be put on a watch list that allowed the government access to all their files and data, while anyone with an IQ 141 or above was placed into a government run facility that would keep them under lock and key for life.

Now, the nation's most intelligent individuals – ones that scored in the 130-140 range – were coveted for their brainpower and recruited to the most prestigious jobs. Unfortunately, there just weren't enough of them to go around. For when the government passed this law they did not anticipate the need the country would have for the geniuses they were sequestering. It soon became clear that the demand for highly intelligent was high for occupations such as surgeons, computer programmers, engineers, physicists, researchers, and law enforcement.

In order to advance those professions and keep the country progressing as necessary when compared to the rest of the world Congress went back to the drawing board. They decided that isolating the geniuses was the wrong answer. Instead, they came up with a new program called "The Genius Reformation." Anyone considered a genius was to still be detained for the safety of the country but after they were put through a training camp they could be leased out to different organizations to be used as their owners saw fit. Each genius would come with detailed instructions for handling and a reinforcer that would be assigned to them for the first few months. The facility that was gaining custody of a genius would have to have onsite secure lodging for their new "worker" and allow the reinforcer to come in and guide them in how to properly supervise and condition their genius.

This new program was well received by the American public and celebrated by anyone that was not closely related to anyone of genius status. In fact, it was so successful that other countries across the world started looking to America for advice as to how to start their own "Genius Reformation."

* * *

 **Year 2012**

Aaron Hotchner barely had a chance to set down his briefcase on the floor when his office phone started chirping. The usually stoic man rolled his eyes when he saw the extension number that popped up on the screen. He let the phone ring two more times before he reached out and snatched it off of its cradle.

"Hotchner."

"I'm flattered that you deigned to answer the phone in less than five rings," came Section Chief Erin Strauss's voice down the line.

"How can I help you?" he asked, ignoring her snarky comment.

She huffed her displeasure but decided to push forth with the conversation. "I need to see you in my office immediately."

"Is something wrong, ma'am?"

"No. There are just some budget issues we need to discuss," she answered, her tone cool and closed-off.

Shaking his head in annoyance, he responded, "I'll be right there."

Aaron hung up the phone and grabbed a legal pad and pen. He then straightened his suit jacket and exited his cozy office, heading straight towards the dragon's den.

Strauss's door was completely open so the unit chief let himself in without announcement. The stern woman looked up from her computer upon his arrival and gestured for him to take a seat in a leather wingback chair. He crossed his legs and gave her a steady stare. "Alright, what is it we need to discuss?"

Erin pushed back from the desk and picked up a sheet of paper. She glanced down and reread it before speaking. "I'm not sure if you're aware but the FBI was granted a sum of money from the government to put toward strengthening our sections and your BAU unit was identified as one that could benefit from the funding."

"I was unaware, ma'am. And I honestly fail to see why they think my team needs it. We have a high number of closed cases and each one of those was done in a relatively fast amount of time," he reacted, slightly offended at the insinuation that his team was inadequate.

"No one is saying that your team is not performing up to expectations. In fact, your team was pegged to receive the money for the opposite reason," she explained cryptically.

"Ma'am?"

She sighed as if exasperated that she needed to explain something so simple to the supervisor of her best unit. "The director wants to see how much better your numbers will be once we add a genius to your team. He thinks – we think – that once we implement the genius your team will be virtually unstoppable."

"That's quite impossible, ma'am. There is no such thing as a perfect team. There will always be those cases that we try out damnedest to solve but cannot," he countered.

"We understand that, Agent Hotchner. Regardless, we have been gifted this money and it was earmarked for this specific reason. I will be forwarding you a catalogue of geniuses to choose from. Needless to say, please pick one that you feel will compliment your team and strengthen any weak spots that you may have," she instructed, her tone brooking no argument.

"How long do I have to make my choice?" he inquired.

"I'll get you the catalogue by the end of the day and we would like your decision by Friday."

"Fine. But I would like to go on record for saying that this is a mistake. Honestly, the addition of a genius to my team may throw off the dynamic. We run like a well-oiled machine and if you throw in an extra part it could cause a malfunction. The members of this team will remain professional but they will be reluctant to accept a genius. It is always difficult for a new agent to integrate into such a close-knit group and that's when the person in question is not some pawn that's been brainwashed by the government. Answer me honestly Erin, is really just a ploy by the FBI to find a way to eliminate the need for such a large team. What happens if adding a genius does help our numbers? Will you guys then look into cutting back the team in order to save money on high salaries? You did say I was coming in here to discuss a budget issue. Is this the director's sneaky way of trying to trim some fat?"

Strauss's face pinched at her subordinate's scrutinizing tone. "I can assure you, agent, that we are not looking to disrupt your team dynamics. Just think of this as a science experiment. All we are doing is changing a variable to see if it has an effect on your performance. The results of this experiment will help inform the director's decisions when it comes to future purchases. If it makes you feel any better your team is not the only one undergoing this change. There are four other units throughout the FBI that are also gaining geniuses."

"Well, will that be all?" Hotch asked, not mollified by her explanation at all.

"Yes. You are dismissed," she stated before turning her attention away from the unit chief and ignoring his departure.

"Good day, ma'am," he gritted out respectfully as he exited her office internally fuming at the outcome of this impromptu meeting.

Aaron didn't have much time to brood on the decision he had to make; rather the team had a case that required their immediate attention in Dallas.

* * *

It took the team four days to catch the unsub and it wasn't until they were on the jet back to Quantico that Hotch had time to dwell on his big decision. He had just opened up his email and saw a message from Strauss that contained a PDF version of the genius catalogue. Knowing that he needed to give his boss a selection by noon tomorrow, he clicked on the attachment and started rifling through profiles.

"That's interesting," Rossi quipped as he walked by Aaron on his way back from getting a fresh cup of coffee.

"Hmm?" the unit chief asked innocently.

"I always thought you were against the whole "Genius Reformation" thing," the older man said dryly.

"I am."

"Then why are you looking through their profiles?"

Aaron furrowed his brow at the senior agent's prying question. "Trust me. I'm not doing this by choice."

"I'm all ears," Dave announced, sitting down in an empty seat.

Hotch closed the lid of his laptop and looked across at his friend. "On Monday Strauss informed me that our team was chosen as one of five throughout the FBI to be given the opportunity to add a genius to their ranks. It is not an option as the director hand selected the teams that he wanted to receive the funding. According to Erin, they want to see how much better our numbers will be when they add in this new variable."

"I see…," Dave said, trailing off in thought.

"I need to give her my choice by tomorrow."

"Well thank God you're a profiler."

"Why's that?" Aaron asked.

"Because I don't know how else you'd decide who would best fit our ragtag group from among all those brains. I don't envy your job for a second," the older man said.

Hotch grunted. "Honestly, I'm just going to look for the candidate that has the most experience in subjects that are related to our job."

"And how will you figure that out?"

The stern man opened his computer back up and turned it toward the other agent. "They've got each eligible candidate listed in alphabetical order with their educational experiences and achievements under their stats."

"I love how you keep calling them candidates instead of slaves," Rossi remarked sardonically.

Hotch coughed at his fellow profiler's straight-forward observation. "Yes, well…the director did not ask my opinion about the "genius" issue when he chose to add one to our unit. As far as I'm concerned the individual I select will be treated as part of the team."

Dave raised his eyebrows. "Relax, Hotch. You know we are on the same page when it comes to this whole "genius" thing. Hell, I barely made the watch list myself. To think, if I'd have been a few points higher I might have been among the profiles you're looking at now."

Aaron let out a wry laugh. "If they would have passed that referendum to lower the "genius" IQ last November everyone on this plane would be in this PDF."

"Ain't that the truth?" Rossi chuckled, standing up from his seat. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to it. Just make sure you don't select some pompous ass. One of us on this team is enough, don't cha think?"

Hotch flashed his friend a grin. "I'll do my best to steer clear of any profile that reads too pretentious."

"Thanks. Oh, when are you going to tell the rest of the team?" he asked, looking back at the members that were currently engaged in a game of poker.

"I was going to wait until I'm given an official start date for our new member. I don't feel like hearing their complaints until then," Hotch said after letting out a stressed breath of air.

"Smart decision," the senior agent said before he made his way back to his seat at the poker table.

* * *

The next day Hotch was into the office bright and early. He had made his decision late last night but had decided to hold off on his email until this morning.

 _To Whom It May Concern:_

 _After a thorough search through all the viable candidates for the job, I have decided that Genius 187 would be the best fit for this team._

 _Aaron Hotchner_

 _Unit Chief_

 _BAU_


	4. Unwanted

**Unwanted:**

 **AU. Spencer is almost eighteen and unwanted by his father. What type of life is William willing to cast him off into just to be rid of him?**

* * *

 **Yes...I'm alive. I'm just really tired - stress on really. I've actually started to write the story "Left Behind" but I don't really like it. I'm about five chapters into it but I'm having my doubts about it. So when this little story line popped up in my head I just had to get the first chapter out. I don't know if it will ever come to fruition, but if it does I was thinking it would be something along the lines of Hotch/Reid slash.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

Spencer's slippered feet whispered down the hallway as he tried to make his way to bed as silently as possible.

The sun was making its presence known on the horizon and the young man, just a few months shy of eighteen, was supposed to be in sound asleep in bed. But instead of obeying his father's orders like he should have, the teenager feigned sleep when his housekeeper came in to check on him at his bedtime and snuck off to the patriarch's expansive library.

Once he had gotten there, he lit the one small candle on a golden stick that he had brought with him and perused the thousands of titles perched on the shelves. He had barely gotten beyond the first row of books at eye level when his arm were overloaded with the written word. The brown-eyed boy carried his precious load over to a maroon velvet chair and snuggled down into the cushions that padded it. He then perched his candle on the table next to him and set his stack of books on the floor. After adjusting his legs, he positioned his chosen story in his lap just right, so that the moonlight spilling through the floor to ceiling window would illuminate its words.

After that, Spencer had gotten lost in the books he had chosen. He read through his pile with ease, for he had the ability to read at a speed that was second to none. So when he had finally pulled his eyes away from his last adventure and saw the dark blue sky fading to a pale pink he knew he was in trouble.

Knowing that time was of the essence and that his father's household would soon be up and about, the youth hurriedly put the books back in their rightful place. When the final tome had been returned to its home, nestled in between the covers of two others, he grabbed the candlestick that was now covered in melted wax and slipped out the doors into the hallway he found himself in now.

Up ahead of the young man was the final stretch he had to breach before reaching the stone staircase. Unfortunately, his father' office stood in the way of his goal, and it was obviously occupied; for the door was slightly ajar, allowing a slit of dim light to spill through the opening.

Spencer slowly crept forward, carefully lifting each foot up off the ground to prevent his slippers from scraping against the floor. The harsh voice of his father infiltrated his ears as he cautiously approached the oak door.

"…it's all her fault. I'm squandering my money keeping her in that cozy nunnery. You would think those women would take her in as part of their Godly duty but no…I've got to pay them to take care of her crazy ass. It's not my fault she's losing her mind. My parents and I didn't sign up for this when we initialed that marriage contract. I guarantee you that if my father had known that there was a history of peculiar behavior in her family he would have never promised me to that woman. Now our family fortune is practically gone and the only solution to restoring the wealth that was once associated with the Reid name is to marry Sylvia," William lamented to whomever else was in the room with him.

Spencer paled upon hearing his father's rant about his mother. His mom, who he loved with all his heart and soul, had been sent away almost eight years ago now.

As a young man of ten, Spencer could tell that something was wrong with her. Her emotions were in a constant uproar. She'd go from happy to frightened at the drop of a hat. When she played with him and take him on "fantastic adventures" out in the woods or inside the keep, she'd shift from acting like everything was make-believe to real. There were many instances of her squirreling him away in a hiding spot as they waited out the imaginary invaders.

William, whom had become extremely embarrassed by his wife's erratic behavior, decided that it was in his image's best interest to send her away. Without even letting his son say goodbye to the mother he held dear, the man sent Diana away to a nunnery that was leagues away from their home, not caring that his son woke up one morning to a house now devoid of love and warmth.

"Well, my friend, I do have some good news for you. After carefully analyzing the wording on the marriage contract I think I've found a loophole that will allow you to dissolve your current union and free you up to join with Sylvia," came the confident voice of Lou, William's lawyer.

The eavesdropping teen paled at Lord Riley's words.

Sylvia was a lady from a few towns over that had been visiting the house more and more lately. She was incalculably wealthy and had taken a liking to his father. William, a man that could smell money in a pile of manure, had been eating up her attention. He'd have the widowed woman and her children come over on the weekends and entertain them from dawn till dusk. They'd go riding, play croquette out in the yard, bow hunt, swim down in the pond, and have picnics out in the sun. Never once did William ask Spencer to join them on their excursions. In fact, after his initial meeting with Sylvia, in which she sneered at his appearance and his bumbling introduction, Spencer never had any contact with the woman and her family.

There was a brief pause before William commanded, "Don't leave me in such suspense, you rogue. Out with it!"

"Look here," the man said, rustling papers in the process. "Right above your signatures, it states, 'of sound mind and body.' Look…you both acknowledged it."

Spencer could practically hear the gears turning in his father's head while he tried to work out what the other man was saying, and being the genius that he was, the smart boy knew exactly where the lawyer was going.

"So? It was true! We were both completely sane at the time," William retorted.

"Were you?" Lord Jenkins asked.

"Of course we -," William cut himself off, "…oh…I see…"

Spencer's stomach sunk like a brick.

"Exactly. Was she really sane at the time? Who's to say she was lucid when she signed the contract? Certainly not you and her parents are no longer around to argue her case. Hell, William, she may have been slowly going crazy the whole time you've been married. And suffice it to say, she is no longer of sound mind…making the whole contract void if you ask me. Even if someone contested that approach they can't deny that when she promised to be faithful to you she was of sound mind and body – she isn't anymore. In her current state she can't possibly be held to a contract that hinges on her sanity," Lou explained, the glee for his friend apparent in his voice.

"You're a genius, Lou!" the lord of the manor gushed. "This is the best news I've heard in weeks."

"I thought you'd say that."

"Pour us a round in celebration. You know how I like it."

The clatter of glass leached into the hallway as the lawyer poured two draughts of cognac. Moments later the clinking of two glasses was heard by the young boy. "Ahh, now that is what I call an excellent breakfast," William laughed.

A moment of silence, in which a distraught Spencer contemplated leaving in order to get back to his bedroom undetected, enveloped them all. The boy was just about to tiptoe past the door when his father's voice picked up again.

"Now, just tell me how to get rid of the final stone around my neck and we'll both be living in the lap of luxury once again," William said offhandedly.

"What do you mean?"

"Sylvia won't marry me as long as Spencer is a part of household," he explained.

Freezing his foot in mid-step, Spencer planted the appendage back down on the ground and listened once again.

"So build a shack out on the lake and let him live there."

"I wouldn't have brought up the subject if it was that easy. She wants him out of our lives permanently. Her kids are to be our only kids."

"Oh…I see. Well, surely you've got some idea of what to do with the boy."

"Short of having him killed, not really."

The comment was so surprising to the young man that he had to shove his fist in his mouth to strangle the cry that was fighting to be released from his throat.

"Come now, William, I know he is just as strange as his mother, but you can't do that."

"I know…he is my own flesh and blood…though you wouldn't know it by talking to him. Hell, I'm ashamed to admit that he's mine. He is so strange. He'd live his life with his head stuck in a book if I'd let him. Shit, he's the reason why I'm contemplating cleaning out the library and burning all the books out on the back lawn. I mean, he's gotten so lost in reading that he knows nothing about holding a normal conversation or socializing with people. For the love of God, he won't even shake hands. Now tell me, what type of man doesn't shake hands?"

"Not the type of man that the people of our station will accept. It's no wonder that he's never even courted a girl."

Getting worked up, William's nasally voice started to rise. "Fuck, don't get me started on how he interacts with women. I've been trying to find him a wife for the past four years and I have yet to find a family willing to put up with his eccentricities! Not one mention of a pre-contract. Not one patriarch willing to let him court his daughter. Let alone him not even mentioning his want to find a wife. Every time I bring up the fact that he needs to get married to carry on my family name the boy goes red in the face and skitters off to his room. If I didn't know any better I'd say he was a fairy."

"Don't even say that!" Lou chided his friend.

"Well what type of hot blooded young teen isn't the least bit interested in the opposite sex?" William queried. "I blame his mother, you know. She's the reason he's so odd. If she hadn't of exposed him to all those fanciful tales, taken him out in the fields to write poetry, and pretended he was the girl she could never conceive he would have been an entirely different man. And hell, he even looks like a girl. Sometimes I swear if he'd put on a dress and let his hair grow just a few inches longer he'd be a woman, albeit flat chested, but a woman no less. God…it's all my fault, I suppose."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I wasn't home enough to monitor the boy's activities. If I hadn't of been so busy with work I'd have made sure he was getting exposed to all the things a gentleman should learn. I would have taught him how to be tough – how to be a man. Now…now I'm stuck with a fragile wisp of a kid that no one could ever want…no one could ever love...not even me."

Out in the hall, tears were cascading down Spencer's face. He'd always known that the man had disparaged his existence but until now he had never realized how much his father hated him.

"Why don't you try to marry him off?"

"You idiot! Weren't you listening to a word I said? There are no families out there that are even a little bit willing to give him a chance. The best thing that I can think of is to throw him out when he turns eighteen. But then I run the risk of our friends seeing him begging in the streets for food and looking down on me for not taking care of my own kin."

Lou was quick to reply. "I didn't mean marry him off to a woman."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look, you know as well as I do that there are plenty of men out there that have…uh…peculiar tastes. Why don't you find one of them and set up some sort of an arrangement?"

"You're saying I should promise my son to some bugger?

"No…I'm saying you should put your ear to the ground and find out if there are any men out there looking to add a supple young man to their household staff. You could market him as 'help,' and contract him out permanently. And you know what? Those feminine looks that you abhor could really help out in this endeavor. Shit, you might even be able to make a profit. Some of those types of men are so starved for flesh that they'd pay for it."

Spencer's eyes were wide with worry at the route this conversation had taken. Was his father really willing to sell him off to get rid of him? The youth got an answer to his question moments later.

"Where can I find a man like that?"


	5. Abnormal

**Possible Wingfic.**

* * *

Reid dropped his pen into the tray in his desk drawer. He'd just signed off on his last consult of the week and was ready to head home. He pushed his chair backwards from his desk and threw his arms out to his sides, stretching his burning back muscles. He reached his left hand over to his right shoulder and started massaging it as best as he could. Unfortunately, he knew that no matter how hard he rubbed the pain just wouldn't go away.

Giving up on his fruitless pursuit, he dropped his hand away from his aching limb. "Two more weeks," he muttered as he bent over and grabbed his messenger bag.

In two weeks he would be going in for his annual surgery. One that he had to have every year because of his condition. He always planned it for June because the amount of cases the team had seemed to slow down over the summer, allowing him the time he needed for his recovery.

Of course, the team didn't know he was having surgery done every year. No, they thought he was away, immersing himself in academia – getting another degree, working on a research project, writing articles, and giving lectures…well, not too many lectures; everyone knew how poor he was at public speaking. This year his cover was that he was going back to Cal Tech to work on an abnormal psychology research project with some of his former professors – and it wasn't a complete lie. He was going to work with his alma mater on a project; they just didn't need him to be there in person to utilize his expertise. He would be communicating with them via email and conference calls while he was at home during his convalescence.

Spencer sighed at the thought of leaving on a lie again. He hated that he couldn't share his true self with his teammates, but it had been a stipulation when the FBI hired him that only the director, the executive assistant director and the section chief of his division would be privy to his special circumstances. Even Gideon, his recruiter and former mentor, never knew about his secret. Though the genius was pretty sure the older agent had his suspicions – that he really knew what Spencer was.

An abnormal.

Abnormal was the name given to people that had a little something extra in their DNA. Less than one percent of the population in the world fell into this new category of human being and society was having a hard time accepting them.

Abnormals were people with visible genetic mutations whose origins at this point cannot be explained by science. For example, about a year ago the team had met a young lady that had a pair of horns growing out of her forehead. They were long and pointy and everyone she encountered ruthlessly referred to her as a demon. Another example was the older man that appeared on the news this week. The guy had a perfectly normal body except for the talons that he had for fingers.

Reid's abnormality was more extreme than those examples but luckily he had found a surgeon that was willing to help him hide his defect. The problem was the surgeon's solution wasn't permanent. His abnormality kept growing back every year – a drawback that he had to share with the FBI when they were considering hiring him.

Thankfully, the director at the time was not as scared of abnormals as the rest of society. He reassured Reid that his defect would not pose a problem as long as the young man did not advertise it. The man was well aware that the society that Spencer would be serving in his job was not ready for an "Abnormal Agent." Accepting and agreeing with the director's explanation for why he should hide his additional appendages, Reid willingly signed the contract put in front of him and started his job as a BAU agent.

Besides, hiding his genetic defect wasn't anything new to him. He had worked hard since puberty to hide the appendages. It was hard enough being a child prodigy that was smarter than all his peers and most adults, giving people another reason to hate him would have made life unbearable. Up until his interview with the FBI the only people who knew of his defect were his mother, the doctor she found to help him out, and the physician's staff. Not even his father was privy to his secret. So, when he first joined the BAU he didn't think twice about keeping his abnormal status confidential.

But now…

Now, the team had morphed into the family he had never had and it pained him to keep something like this hidden from them. After all the secrets that he had learned about his friends, it felt like he was betraying their trust by not confiding in them.

Especially now after Emily's death.

The team was fractured – barely holding on to their once cohesive bond.

But if they found out about his secret now…well they might not ever recover from the blow.

Worried that his mind was about to embark down a dark road, Reid shook his head and banished his dour thoughts to the back of his mind.

He threw the strap of his bag over his shoulder and reached over to turn off the desk lamp. His elegant fingers were centimeters away from pushing in the switch when a voice called out to him, "Oh, Dr. Reid. You are still here."

Spencer looked up to the walkway stationed around the outer edge of the bullpen and saw Strauss peeking out of her office.

"Ma'am?"

The stern woman fully emerged from her doorway and walked over to rail, placing her hands on the metal barrier. "I just got off the phone with the director. He wants to speak with you."

"With me?" the genius asked, incredulous that the new director of the FBI even knew who he was.

"Yes, Agent Reid. With you," she said, furrowing her brow at the fact that he had questioned her previous statement.

"Tonight?"

Strauss sighed and let go of the railing, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Well, to be perfectly honest, I didn't think you'd still be here this late on a Friday night."

Reid blushed at her comment. "I-I…uh, was just finishing up a few consults."

The section chief pursed her lips like she had just tasted a lemon. "Is Agent Morgan still slipping you some of his files? I'll have a talk with him about it next week."

Frightened that his friend was going to get in trouble for no reason, Reid quickly spoke up, "No. Don't do that."

The battleaxe looked down on him from her perch with one eyebrow raised up high.

"I-I offered to do them for him. I took some of Agent Rossi's too. They…they were all talking about their plans for the weekend and I wanted to help them get out early," the young agent explained.

"And you don't have any plans for yourself this weekend?" she inquired.

Spencer looked down at the ground and scuffed his shoe against the carpet. He bit his lip for a moment before saying, "No, ma'am. Not really. They all had plans with their friends and family. I've only got a date with a few books."

Due to the fact that his eyes were still trained on the floor, the genius missed Strauss's wince when she realized her faux pas.

Wishing to push past their conversation's awkward lull, the woman cleared her throat loudly and said, "Well, since you have nothing to rush home to, why don't I tell the director that you're still here and available for a meeting."

"Um…sure."

Strauss raised her eye at his casual reply.

Realizing his mistake, Spencer stood up straighter and stated firmly, "That would be fine, ma'am. I can meet with him now."

She crisply nodded her head and walked back into her office. Reid stood down on the bullpen floor and furrowed his brow, racking his brain for a reason why the director would want a meeting with him. His mind hadn't even processed twenty possibilities when Strauss reappeared with a leather portfolio grasped in her hands. "Let's go," she ordered as she stalked down the stairs and over to the elevators.

Reid scurried along behind her and entered the lift. He stood next to her, shoulder to shoulder, and watched as she punched in the button for the ninth floor.

"So, what does the director want to meet with me about?" Spencer asked as the door swished shut.

The young man saw Strauss's reflection in the mirrored door flinch upon hearing his question. She blinked her eyes slowly and swallowed a breath of air before answering, "He has heard alot about you and wanted to meet you."

Reid recognized that the section chief was not telling him the whole truth but he decided not to push her. Instead he just nodded his head and stared at the numbers above the doors.

The trip up only lasted about thirty seconds and before Reid knew it the two BAU agents were walking through the dimly lit ninth floor foyer. Strauss led him over to the glass doors that separated the director's suite from the rest of the floor and tapped a code into the keypad embedded in the wall. A click sounded throughout the hallway right before Erin pulled open one of the two frosted glass doors.

She didn't look behind her before marching into the reception area. There were two illuminated floor lamps framing the door to the director's office which was positioned to the left of his secretary's desk. Strauss walked over to the door and knocked on it before opening it and announcing, "Sir. Are you ready?"

"Yes, yes. Come in," a gruff voice called from behind the oak door. Strauss waved her hand at Reid and ushered him into the room.

Reid walked hesitantly into the office and cleared his throat, calling the attention of the fifty year old man on the phone to him.

The new director looked up from his call and gestured to the set of chairs that were sitting vacant in front of him. "Yes…they're here now. We'll discuss the details later," he stated firmly before hanging up the phone without a goodbye. He then stood up from his seat and straightened his suit. "Erin. Dr. Reid, please have a seat."

"Director," Strauss acknowledged as she sat down in a leather chair.

Spencer cautiously followed her lead, but instead of sitting back comfortably in the chair he perched his gangly body on the edge of the cushion. "Director, you wanted to see me?"

The older man's eyes narrowed as they searched the young agent's face. His harsh look remained firmly in place when he replied, "Yes, Dr. Reid. That is correct. But first, let's get formalities out of the way." He walked around his desk and reached out his hand, thrusting it into the boy's face. "Though I'm sure you've heard of me already, I'm Eugene Bryant, the newest director of the FBI."

"Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid. It's nice to finally meet you and congratulations on your promotion," the younger man said formally, forcing himself to clasp the other man's hand and shake it.

The man nodded his head but did not return Reid's pleasantries. Instead he strode back around his desk and took a seat in his wingback chair.

Quickly realizing that this wasn't a social call, Reid straightened his back and put on a stoic face, determined not to show any emotion. "How can I be of service to you, Sir?"

Director Bryant glanced over to Strauss and gave her a tightlipped smile before turning back to Reid. He brought his hands together and clasped them, setting them down firmly on the shining mahogany surface. "Well, Dr. Reid, as you are well aware of, I've only been in this position for the past four months. I have been trying to quickly acclimate myself to this job over that period of time. My predecessor left me a list of items to take care of first and it hasn't been until the last week or so that I've finally been able to turn my attention to the priorities that I set forth to the board when they were interviewing me."

The genius nodded, listening attentively but now quite sure where the man was going.

The stern man paused and trained an intense gaze right on Reid. "One of which was the utilization of abnormals."

Spencer felt his heart drop down to the tip of his toes at the man's ominous revelation. "U-utilization, Sir?" Reid asked, unable to hold back the stutter.

"Yes, I feel that abnormals and their special abilities are a neglected resource. The people that fall under the abnormal category have so much to offer our organization and I feel the former director failed the FBI by not trying to incorporate their unique attributes," he expounded seriously.

"And what does that have to do with me?" Reid asked, though he already feared he knew the answer.

Director Bryant gave Spencer a thin smile that crinkled his aging eyes. "I'd like to include you in the abnormality study that I'm having our research department begin on Monday," he stated, not beating around the bush.

Reid flushed at the man's bluntness and broke his gaze. Butterflies started fluttering around in his stomach at the mere mention of his mutation, let alone the thought of it being studied. "I-I don't –"

"I'd like to see them," the director stated before Reid could finish his sentence.

"What?"

"I want to see your wings."

Spencer gave a nervous laugh and glanced over to Strauss who refused to make eye contact with him. Seeing that he wasn't going to get any support from his section chief, Reid hardened his eyes and straightened his spine. "No."

Not used to being told no, the man stood up and leaned forward on his hands. "Dr. Reid, that wasn't a request."

"And this isn't a show," Reid spat, standing up and grabbing his satchel. "With all due respect director, I will not be participating in your study and I'd like for my abnormality to never be mentioned again," the agent ordered, the words feeling like sandpaper as they left his mouth.

The genius was halfway to the door when Bryant let out a nasty chuckle. "I've got news for you, Dr. Reid," he sneered, "You're already signed up for a spot."

Spencer turned around and glared at the man. "That's highly unlikely seeing as I have yet to sign any sort of transfer request or letter of intent."

"But you did sign this," Erin Strauss stated, pulling a set of stapled papers out of her portfolio.

The boy's hazel eyes squinted as they glanced at the packet before moving up to search Strauss's apathetic face for any sign of emotion. "That's my contract," he acknowledged. "What does that have to do with this?"

Behind his desk, a shit-eating grin formed on the director's face. "Now, now, Dr. Reid. I know all about your eidetic memory; so don't play dumb with me. I'm sure you can recall a line or two that mentions something about the use of your abnormality."

"Section five, clause two – If there is ever a need for the agent to utilize his abnormality to save the lives of others he is obligated to do so," Reid recited. "That's it. And this, I assure you, does not qualify under that clause."

"That's where you're wrong, agent. By allowing the FBI's research team to analyze and explore your anatomy you will be saving countless lives. We'll be taking our findings from you and the other two abnormals that work here and use it to reach out to some of our more aggressive agents. We're going to engineer our own super agents that will be able to handle anything they come across in the field. Now don't you want to be a part of that?"

Horrified, Reid backed up toward the doorway a few more steps. "No. You're insane. No one is going to want to be turned into an abnormal. And I won't let you use me as a blueprint to do so."

"I've already found a few willing participants," he informed the young man. "And you will let us use you – you've already signed the paperwork." Bryant reached down to his phone and snatched up the receiver. He pressed down three buttons with his meaty fingers and said, "Now."

Seconds later the doors behind Spencer burst open causing the genius to whirl around to face the entry of four large agents. Knowing that these men were here for him, Reid started to look around for a new escape route.

"There is no way out, Dr. Reid. Now I suggest you follow orders or this is going to be very hard on you."

"No way am I going willingly," Reid hissed.

"Dr. Reid," Strauss called, "be reasonable. Just go with these men and your part of the research will be over in no time."

Spencer spun around and glared at her. "How could you do this to me? You knew what he was going to do and you helped him set the trap. You know the team will never stand for this. What are you going to tell them? They'll know that I didn't just up and transfer overnight. They'll look for me. They're my family and they're not just going to let me go without saying a word," he growled at the woman.

The section chief's stoic mask slipped a little at his use of the word family. She looked over at the young man that she had watch develop into a capable agent over the years and said, "They won't look for you because they will be told that you are on a top secret assignment for the director. Every single bit of information about you has be wiped from the system so that not even Miss Garcia can find a trace of it. As of right now, you are officially relieved of your duty to the BAU and reassigned to the biometric analysis division. Your location and mission will remain confidential until the time that the researchers feel they've exhausted all avenues of exploration with you."

"With me? You mean with my body," Reid retorted with a snarl.

Erin didn't answer him; instead she took his contract and tucked it back into her portfolio.

"Now that that's all straightened out, shall we?" the director chimed in, waving his hand at the agents behind Spencer.

The men stepped forth and grabbed the former BAU agent by his biceps. Reid tried to pull his arms out of their grips but he wasn't strong enough.

"Hold him steady," Bryant ordered as he walked up to Reid and caressed his face with the silver blades of the scissors that he now held in his hands. "Turn him around."

The agents swiftly followed orders and forced Reid into a kneeling position. Spencer kept jerking at his arms but felt the addition of more hands on his shoulders, forcing him to stay in place. Moments later the genius felt his shirt being removed from the waistband of his pants, followed by cold steel touching his exposed skin. The snick-snick-snick sound of the scissors cutting through his clothes nearly brought him to tears as his dignity was being stripped away in front of all of these people.

A gasp sounded in the room when his shirt fell open to reveal two rounded white bumps the size of cereal bowls positioned underneath Spencer's shoulder blades. The white skin was stretched tight over the protrusions and there were red marks of irritation where the terminal phalanx of his newly forming wings were trying to break through his tender flesh.

"Where are your wings?" the director asked angrily.

Reid let out a sardonic laugh in spite of his current situation and said, "I get them ground down every year. I have no wings, so to speak."

Strauss stood up and walked over to the kneeling agent. "I told you this, Sir. He goes around this time every year to have them surgically sanded down."

"I-I thought there would be more to see after a year."

Another derisive laugh escaped his lips. "I've never let achieve more than a year's growth. What you see here is what you get."

There was a brief silent pause before the director started speaking again. "I guess we got to you just in time. From this point forth, there will be no more sanding. We will monitor their growth and take meticulous notes of their formation. Now take him down to the lab, agents. Show him to his new room and get him ready for Monday."

The rough hands forced the young agent to his feet and ushered him to the director's private elevator in the back of his office. Reid looked up at his new nemesis and called out to him before the doors closed.  
"This isn't going to work. I will find a way out. And when I do -."

Eugene Bryant flashed a big toothy grin at the abnormal and cut him off. "Yeah, yeah. I'm shaking in my boots."


End file.
